


Coping

by ketchupblood



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-06
Updated: 2010-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketchupblood/pseuds/ketchupblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He would never admit it to anyone but, on the day of his operation, Yukimura was terrified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coping

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://schweinsty.livejournal.com/profile)[**schweinsty**](http://schweinsty.livejournal.com/) for the beta.
> 
> [](http://community.livejournal.com/mission_insane/profile)[ **mission_insane**](http://community.livejournal.com/mission_insane/) [Quotes](http://ketchupblood.livejournal.com/63109.html#cutid1)/ _Imagination Is More Important Than Knowledge – Einstein_

He would never admit it to anyone but, on the day of his operation, Yukimura was terrified.

The team came to see him before he went in and before they went to play. They wore their hideous uniforms and stood awkwardly around him. He could barely move his head to look them in the eyes and wish them luck, a largely unnecessary gesture. He knew they would win. If luck came into it at all, it was only so that they would win quickly enough to be back by the time he woke. His voice was quiet when he said it, but the roll of his eyes after it left his mouth made that clear enough.

He wasn't sure the rest of the team caught it, but Renji and Genichirou exchanged an amused glance.

"Good luck to you too," Renji had said, a small grin on his face. His good luck meant the same thing that Yukimura's had.

The rest of the team shifted uncomfortably. This wasn't a situation they were supposed to be in. They would deal with this better once they got onto the courts. Then they could do something. There was no doubt in any of their minds that, today, they fought the same battle. Their win on the courts and Yukimura's recovery were the same thing--or at least, that was how they coped. They would win; Yukimura would get better.

Now, though, they could only stand around his bed.

Only Kirihara cut through the awkwardness. When the silence got to be too much to bear, he threw himself onto Yukimura and gave him a hug. Yukimura laughed weakly--weakly was all he could do. He couldn't imagine Kirihara would do that under any other circumstances, or for anyone else. It was touching.

The tension was gone, for the moment, but it always threatened to come back. He didn't want them to see him like this, and he knew that this wasn't how they wanted to see him either.

"Go win," he whispered, sending them off before it could come back.

The room was too empty without them in there with him, but at least it was peaceful. They were always respectfully quiet around him, and yet the quiet was so disturbing. They were never quiet before. He just wanted it to be like that again.

The nurse finally came to get him. He had asked his family to not come in today, so he was alone when they wheeled him into the operating room.

As he lay prone on the operating table, surrounded by surgical tools and men in scrubs, the panic set in.

The operation was high risk. If it failed, he would never be able to play tennis again. His team would never joke around him again, they would never be loud and boisterous and joyful. They would always be somber and quiet. That wasn't what the team was, that couldn't happen.

He fought to hold still as the surgeon picked up a scalpel. No, this was too pathetic. He gave himself a harsh slap mentally, imagining the punishment Genichirou gave those who lost.

His team was out there, playing against Seigaku. He had seen the tapes. Seigaku was good, incredibly good. If Renji and Genichirou could calmly lead his team to victory, then he could beat this.

He would not wish that the nurse would hurry up and knock him out. His team was waiting for him. They were winning for him. He imagined their matches. Every match was for him. It was no longer Seigaku they were battling, but his own fears. Every game they won was a strike against the possibility that he would never get better. Rikkai would win; Rikkai must win; Rikkai always won.

He would definitely get better.

Finally, they injected something--he didn't remember what--into him. Yukimura sank into the welcoming darkness with victory crowding out despair.


End file.
